Sailing Taurus NZ

After two months in the Prince of Wales Bay Marina it was time to go. Screwing our courage to the sticking place, we tossed off our mooring lines and left the security of our berth. Sailing under the Tasman Bridge we headed downriver, back to the public jetties at Sullivans Cove for some last minute groceries. Next morning we were on our way to Kettering.

Our plan was to slowly sail back down the D’Entrecasteaux Channel to Recherche Bay, the closest all-weather anchorage for those planning to head to Port Davey. The sixty nautical mile trip from Recherche to Port Davey involves sailing west for roughly nine hours, ‘turning the corner’ (as they say in these parts) at the aptly named South West Cape, and then sailing north for another three hours or so. Unfortunately, westerly gales are the norm in the infamous ‘roaring forties.’ Indeed, those intrepid souls who race around the world use the strong prevailing winds in these latitudes to blast around the globe in the shortest possible time. We couldn’t leave until the weather decided to play ball, but we had to be ready for when it did.

Naturally, things didn’t go quite to plan. I strained my back carrying jerrycans of diesel to the boat, and the weather did nothing but blow westerly gales and storms. My back injury and the ‘yeah, nah’ weather meant the trip was on hold until both improved.

It was time to reassess. Before leaving Prince of Wales we had met a nice couple from the Ocean Cruising Club, David and Andrea, who also happened to be members of the Cruising Yacht Club of Tasmania (CYCT). They told us that the CYCT was about to have a rally around the Norfolk Bay area, and suggested we tag along. Because getting to Port Davey was our priority we hadn’t intended to accept this kind offer. However, it turned out that our neighbours on the jetty at Kettering, Phil and Julia, were organising the rally. When they also invited us to join them it seemed too good an opportunity to miss given the circumstances.

A few days of lazy sailing seemed like the perfect antidote for my back, and it also meant that we could return to Hobart to see some of the Dark Mofo celebrations, an annual mid-winter arts and culture festival.

In the above photo, I’m not modelling the latest Hobart fashion, but using a back brace to pin a hot water bottle to me. I find the best treatment for a strained back is support (a back brace), heat (a hottie), and a mixture of tramadol, codeine, and alcohol (note the silly smile). Taken in small measure this mixture generally allows me to push through the few days until the spasms stop, and failing that it certainly makes the world a more serene place.

We enjoyed a relaxing sail to Norfolk Bay, pleased to be able to take our time for once. The rally had arranged a bonfire to kick off the celebrations and we were able to catch up with some (not very) old friends and make a few new ones.

One of the crews we particularly enjoyed meeting was that of Southern Explorer. This converted trawler is run as a charity by veterans for veterans, teaching modern seamanship and traditional ‘marlin spike’ rope work. The guys were as generous as Tasmanians always seem to be, lending us books on the Port Davey area and providing lots of good advice for the upcoming trip.

After a fun few days the rally wound up and we headed back to Sullivans Cove. We had a few reasons to return. Apart from the Dark Mofo celebrations, we had decided that the saggy mattresses in our v-berth might be contributing to my back problem. Renewing the foam had become a priority. Last, but not least, The CYCT had arranged to gain access to Constitution Dock over Mofo. This historic area can’t normally be entered due to a road bridge that isn’t routinely opened. In typically generous fashion we were offered a berth if we wanted to join in. It was another opportunity that seemed too good to be missed.

Run by the people who operate MONA, it should come as no surprise to find that the Dark Mofo blends irreverence, art, and hedonism. Even so, I was still a little surprised to see that they had been able to get away with erecting a series of large glowing inverted crucifixes along the waterfront. What, I thought, would the Christians say?

Part of the Dark Mofo celebration is Dark Feast; an enclosed area where innumerable street vendors come together to sell food and alcohol. The festival is very popular with the locals, who all come out to play and enjoy a break in the bleak mid-winter.

After eating and drinking our fill, and replacing our mattresses (thanks to Foam Land in Hobart who really helped us out), it was time to leave our cosy berth. We headed over to an anchorage at Bellerive and next day joined the twelve CYCT boats who were getting ready to enter Constitution Dock together so that the bridge didn’t have to be open any longer than necessary.

It was a bit nerve wracking to sail Taurus into a confined space with twelve other yachts, all looking to moor up at the same time. In a long keel boat, with inherently limited manoeuvrability, it could easily have become a bit of an embarrassing nightmare. Thankfully everything went smoothly and our blushes were spared.

That night we visited another part of the Dark Mofo event. The Dark Park had a number of ‘arty’ things going on. Some were spectacular and some a little bit weird.

The following day it was time to leave Hobart once again. We had, we hoped, a short weather window that would allow us to get to Port Davey in a couple of days time. We needed to get down to Recherche to be ready for the off.

We sailed back down the D’Entrecasteaux Channel over the course of two comfortable days, stopping in Tin Pot Bay for a night and arriving in Recherche Bay in the early afternoon of the next day. The weather window we hoped to take was pretty tight. A northerly wind would allow us to get to the South West Cape, and was then predicted to die away at about 9am to be replaced by an intensifying sou’westerly, which would allow us to sail north and slip into Port Davey before things got too ‘exciting.’ Of course, depending on the absolute accuracy of weather predictions is pretty foolish — predictions being predictions after all — but it was the best opportunity we’d seen for weeks. The Roman god of opportunity, Occasio, was depicted as a figure with a long fringe at the front and shaven head at the rear. The idea was that if you didn’t grab hold of him as he approached, you didn’t get a second chance. So it was with us, if we wanted to reach Port Davey we would have seize the opportunity before it disappeared. To be at South West Cape at 9am we needed to leave Recherche at midnight, so we settled down to try and relax for what was likely to be a bumpy trip.

Then the bilge alarm went off. Opening up the engine compartment we found something like 2–300 litres of water sloshing around. Bugger. It turned out that this was coming from the dripless stern gland seal, a seal that is supposed to prevent the sea coming in from where the propellor shaft exits… Miles from any help, with no possibility of being able to lift the boat, and with little time before a long awaited opportunity to make our next passage, the timing couldn’t have been much worse (though in hindsight, the alarm going off when we were halfway to Port Davey would have been much much worse). On the plus side our ‘OMG bilge pump’ made light work of emptying the boat, but what to do? It didn’t seem wise to head to an extremely remote area of Tasmania in a boat trying to sink…

Next time: what’s wrong with the bloody boat now, and (all together now) “can we fix it?”